


Dishonored Prompt Fills

by SeptemberSky



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Asexual Daud (Dishonored), Fluff, Hand Jobs, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sappiness, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2019-11-27 07:31:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18191600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeptemberSky/pseuds/SeptemberSky
Summary: Just a cross-posting of the prompts I do on tumblr.  Individual ratings, warnings, summaries, and so on are in the chapters, because it varies.





	1. Corvo/ace!Daud nsfw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> E. 
> 
> From and for intrepid-inkweaver on tumblr: Corvo/Daud "when one stops the kiss to whisper "I'm sorry, are you sure you--" and they answer by kissing them more from the kiss prompt list and "I've always been honest with you" from the other one :)
> 
> Warnings: I mean there's a hand job. That's about it

Corvo isn’t quite certain how he’s gone from sitting on the couch, just talking and enjoying Daud’s company, to being pushed back toward the bed with Daud fumbling at the buttons on his pants.

He’d smuggled in the half bottle of wine left from dinner and they just drank it out of the whiskey tumblers he kept stashed in the desk drawer (that would’ve given the sommelier _fits_ but neither of them could taste a difference).  The wine was good, and talking must’ve slowly given way to kissing, both of them languid and warm, tumblers forgotten on the coffee table.  Daud put his hands in Corvo’s hair the way he liked, and Corvo snugged in close the way _he_ liked, and then—

Daud noses Corvo’s collar out of the way and sets his mouth to skin, teeth pressing, sucks a mark into the join of his neck and shoulder—he still hasn’t gotten the button—and Corvo gasps, clamping down on a frankly embarrassing noise.  Really, it’s unfair how quickly Daud figured out exactly the best way to do that, because he uses it like just another weapon, fighting dirty.

 _Wait_ , Corvo tries to say as he steps onto the rug and nearly trips on the edge, because Daud’s been—hesitant about sex, said he’s never really been interested and he _must’ve_ noticed how hard Corvo’s gotten already, but Daud cuts him off with a hand curling around his neck and a deliberate, thorough kiss that brings their stumbling to a halt.   _Then_ the first button goes, no longer a moving target, and the others quickly follow, and when Daud looks down to ruck his shirt up Corvo uses the chance.  “I’m sorry, are you sure you—”

Daud _rolls his eyes_ and leans back in to kiss him again, teeth tugging gently at his lower lip.  That’s no kind of answer, but Corvo hits the edge of the bed and Daud crowds him down onto it, puts a knee on the mattress and picks him up to shift them both closer to the headboard, and that _is not fair_ , Corvo thinks as he’s forced to cling like a limpet or be left behind; Daud knows what that does to him.

He has a moment—just a moment—to think as Daud settles back on his heels to pull at his pants.  They’re not drunk. Not even close. This would all make a bit more sense if they were, and it’s _Daud’s_ idea, and while Corvo isn’t exactly complaining, he’d like to take a second to talk about whatever they’re going to do before they do it.

His respite is over when Daud gets impatient and yanks.  He hears his pants hit the floor and Daud unfolds himself, fits his thigh between Corvo’s legs and kisses him again, slow and sweet.  Holds his hand to his cheek and strokes his thumb over the bone, catching in his eyelashes, and that’s _good,_ Void, it’s good.  He can’t help the soft moan that escapes him as he rocks up against firm muscle, and Daud seems to take that as encouragement, nudging him slightly—but there it is again, the uncertainty—Corvo can feel it. Daud pulls away only a moment or two later, and they just breathe, foreheads pressed together.  Corvo runs his palm up and down Daud’s back in slow strokes, trying to ease him.

“We can stop,” he murmurs, because they can, Daud should know that.  “I won’t be upset.”

“I do want to,” he says softly.  “But—just you. I don’t need anything.”

“Alright.”  That’s good enough for Corvo.  They can always stop.

Daud starts in on his shirt, and the fire hasn’t burned down low enough, Corvo thinks with a spike of alarm, there’s still far too much light in the room—but he doesn’t look twice at all the scars, and he relaxes.  Corvo sits up and Daud pushes the shirt off his shoulders, tosses it to the side—he’s naked now but for underwear and socks and feels fairly ridiculous, tries to deal with those himself and only gets one before Daud wraps his arms around him, pulls him in close, and this is more familiar.  Calmer.

Corvo gives himself some time to just enjoy the feel of him—broad-shouldered and sturdy, safe—and kisses the soft place by his jaw, careful to avoid his ear, he doesn’t like that.  He works his way down, following the long, thin muscle, and Daud sighs, answers with teeth at Corvo’s earlobe because he _does_ like that, and he shivers.

Daud’s still fully dressed, only his shoes and coat have been left behind, and Corvo feels like the whole thing is a bit unbalanced.  Daud doesn’t want to be touched, though, so he won’t ask him to shed his pants, but—

“Your shirt?” he whispers.  “If you don’t mind.”

Daud shakes his head, sets to work and Corvo could almost be upset at how he seems so completely unruffled while _he’s_ in such a state.  He’s methodical as he always is—slips each button loose, untucks the tail, then goes to his cuffs, and he’s beautiful, Corvo thinks.  A little awkward, top-heavy from the breadth of his shoulders, but Corvo’s well aware of what _he_ looks like—covered in scars, too-long arms and legs spread out all over the bed, still with that one sock on.  His body is all harsh angles and lankiness, but Daud is—softened isn’t the right word, not really, but Corvo doesn’t know what else to use—by the muscle layered heavy across him.  And the firelight does wonderful things across his skin, catches in the scar trailing down his face. Perhaps he’s glad it hasn’t burned low after all.

And Daud just waits, letting him look all he likes, soft-eyed and patient at the foot of the bed.

Void.  Corvo loves him.

“Come here,” he says, and can’t quite smooth the emotion from his voice.  Daud settles over him again, hand alighting on his waist, thumb stroking gently as he puts another bruise on Corvo’s neck.  He barely manages to turn a groan into a shaky exhale, and when Daud starts tugging at his waistband one-handed, he lifts his hips and shoves his underwear off with a small and desperate noise.

(He _still_ has one sock.  That bothers him more than it should.)

Daud reaches and wraps his hand around Corvo’s cock—gone a little soft just from lack of attention but that won’t last long—and he hurriedly grabs his wrist to stop him. “Wait, wait—in the drawer—”

Daud nods and moves to start rummaging.  Corvo supposes he ought to be a little concerned that he apparently knows exactly where to look in which drawer without being told, but he’s back almost immediately with the little vial of oil, so he can’t bring himself to care.  Daud passes it to him, offers his hand, and Corvo tips some out into the pit of his palm. Then his hand is back and Corvo lets his head fall against the pillow because it’s _good_.

Daud’s grip is a bit too gentle, though.  He strokes once, and just as Corvo is about to ask if he wants to stop he rumbles, “How do you like it?”

He scrambles to sit up and shuffles closer, curls his own hand around Daud’s and adjusts him.  Goes firm and slow, shows him to run his thumb over the head on the upstroke, and Corvo presses his face to the crook of Daud’s neck, breath going deep and heavy at the pleasure of it.  Daud’s other hand rests steady on the small of Corvo’s back in counterpoint to the one on his dick and he folds into the contact, pulling them into a half-hug. When Daud seems confident enough, he lets him go and grips the sheets instead.  His hands are shaking.

Daud, for his part, just puts his cheek to the crown of Corvo’s head.  His eyes are probably closed. He likes affection, closeness—likes to _cuddle,_ even if he’d never admit it and can barely bring himself to ask for it on a good day.  

But they both know.  They’re working on it.  

“Good?” Daud rasps, sounding a little unsure—but Corvo had taught himself to be quiet, to barely make a sound, and he can’t expect Daud to know how to read him so quickly. 

“Yes, Void—yes,” he pants.  “Are you—?”

“I’m fine.”  And Corvo can’t muffle the questioning (and if he’s being honest, distressed) noise when Daud just _stops_ , his hand static and unmoving on his cock.  But then he’s cupping the back of Corvo’s head and he follows the suggestion, lifting his face away from his shoulder, and Daud kisses him, gentle like he’d never learned to be anything but.  That does things to Corvo, makes his heart lurch, and he cants his hips, trying to get Daud to move again. He relents and Corvo breaks the kiss to gasp raggedly and whisper _faster, please._

And that’s it, _there—_ Corvo’s thigh starts trembling and his hand goes white-knuckle tight in the sheets, fingers curling into Daud’s back hard enough to bruise as he lets out a choked, needy sound, rocking up into his hand— _“Daud—”_

And he comes.  Sags into Daud’s side, breathing heavily, and mumbles something appreciative to the kiss pressed into his hair.  He doesn’t protest when Daud lays him on his back and quietly walks away, just shivers when a cool draft washes over him.

Daud’s gone for so long, though, that he starts to worry he’s gone into the bathroom to have some private crisis, but just as he draws a breath to call him, he comes back carrying a damp cloth.  As soon as he begins wiping him down, Corvo understands what took him—he’d been waiting for the water to warm.  When he finishes, Corvo catches his jaw on impulse, and he looks up, questioning, probably able to read everything he knows is written across his face.  

“I’ll be right back,” Daud murmurs, and kisses the heel of his hand.  

Corvo rolls himself up into the blanket when he goes.  He hears the laundry chute door open and close, then Daud snorts at him.  He’s sure he does look ridiculous, but he doesn’t _care_.  The Tower’s always cold at night, and the blanket is soft and warm.  Daud can laugh all he wants.

“You can get _in_ the bed, you know,” he says, but he doesn’t either, just settles on top of the quilt so Corvo can worm his way over and drape himself across him without any difficulty.  

“Mm.  This is easier.”  He can feel Daud laugh silently, and smiles when he starts petting his hair.  “This was nice.”

“Mhm.”  

And Corvo is content, and _sleepy_ , his thoughts muzzy and wandering.  He tucks himself up against Daud, making him part of the blanket wrap, and sighs.  “I love you.”

Daud goes very, very still beside him.

Oh no.

Oh Void.

He didn’t mean to say that.

He’s made a mistake.

* * *

“What?” Daud asks, just to buy himself some time—he knows exactly what Corvo said, he just doesn’t know what to do about it.

“It’s nothing,” he mumbles.  

“No, what did you say?”  

He hesitates.  Pulls the blanket tighter around himself.  “...I love you.” Then Daud hesitates, so he follows it with, “I do, I’ve always been honest with you.”  Daud isn’t going to accuse him of lying.  But he still doesn’t know what to tell him, and his continued silence is enough to make Corvo pull away.  “I’m sorry.”

That doesn’t make any sense.  “What for?”

“I—I know this can be...hard for you,” he says, and he’s right.  Daud spent years feeling everything as some shade of anger, and learning to pick apart his emotions is something he’s had to work on.  “And I wasn’t going to tell you yet, I just didn’t want you to feel trapped, or—or obligated to say something you don’t feel, I’m sorry.”  

“I’m not upset,” he soothes as much as anything, because Corvo’s miserable and worried under his blanket, looking bizarrely like a dumpling.  His lips thin into something a bit like a smile, but it doesn’t come off and he just looks sadder than before.

“Please don’t think that you have to—just because I—”

Daud reaches over and pulls him into a hug.  He stays stiff and frozen for a moment before he accepts it, and Daud holds him there until he feels him relax a bit.  “I don’t think I can say it yet,” he says, trying to phrase it as delicately as possible. Corvo nods against his collarbone, murmurs _I understand_.  “But I do care for you.”  

And it’s true, he does—feels _something_ for him, almost frightening in its intensity at times.  As soon as he knows a name to put to it, he’ll tell him what it is.  

Corvo’s hold on him tightens, eases.  “‘M tired.”

“Alright.”  It is late, they’d both be best off just going to sleep already.  Corvo sits up, sticks his foot out to pull off his sock and fling it into some distant corner of the room.  It takes some maneuvering, but both of them manage to work their way under the quilt without actually getting off the bed.  Corvo’s asleep within minutes, drifting off with Daud stroking his hair.

Daud stays awake much longer.  Thinking.


	2. Corvo/Daud, “You’re worth it”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> M.
> 
> From VeeChaos! "Angst/fluff prompt #78 - “You’re worth it.” Corvo/Daud pretty please :D"
> 
> Warnings: Daud gets a couple of broken bones.

Daud has  _words_ for whoever gathered the intelligence on Dapper Rodney. It’s true that he and the Roaring Boys are “poorly organized and supplied, with no detectable power structure” but “a minimal threat” they are not.   **  
**

He rattles the handcuffs.

Some half-wit (and he knows it wasn’t one of his Whalers, they would’ve given him an accurate report) is going to catch it if he can manage to get loose. He doesn’t like his chances, though.  

With the Geezer finally dead and buried, Rodney had the idea to form a gang of his own and started operating out of a tumbledown warehouse on the edge of Draper’s Ward. Daud had suspected the power vacuum left from the Hatters’ collapse was the only thing that let them last long enough to become a problem, and now he knows he was right, along with a few other things that aren’t very important at the moment.

He’d just meant to get out and stretch his legs a bit, investigate a little. He hadn’t even left a note to say where he was going, thinking he’d be back before he was missed. And it has been easy, so easy to sneak in, look around, and take some notes, all while perched safely up in the rafters.

Well. He thought.

Dapper Rodney has a  _tallboy_.

The ground had started shaking and he recognized what it was immediately (though all the tallboys were supposed to be decommissioned and hauled off for scrap,  _how_ had the Roaring Boys gotten their hands on one?) and dropped his pen as he fumbled to get it put back in his pocket because he had to  _leave_. He watched with mounting horror as it fell, tumbling end over end, and hit the ground, springing apart into so many incriminating pieces. It was a fancy one too, with little bits of gold here and there. Not the kind of thing that might blend into all the dirt on the floor.

Someone walking past had noticed the pen scattered around, then he got the tallboy’s attention, and he’d been the one to actually see Daud. He imagines they wore about the same looks of surprise. And it had all been downhill from there—he’d abandoned stealth in favor of speed and tried to run, and then they  _all_  chased him, and then—

Well, it doesn’t matter how he got caught and he doesn’t want to think about it anyway, it’s pissing him off too much. Nothing like this has happened since Black Sally tried to put his eye out.

The Roaring Boys had a fun time roughing him up and crowing over his Mark, and now he’s handcuffed to a leaky pipe in a mostly-dark room, he might have a couple of cracked ribs, he certainly has more bruises than he wants to count, and the whole left side of his face hurts—Dapper Rodney has a vicious right hook. He doesn’t know what else they’re going to do to him—doesn’t think even they’ve figured it out yet—but he doubts it’ll be pleasant.

He just hopes they don’t try to ransom him to the Abbey.

He uses his Void gaze to get a better look at his surroundings. It’s some kind of storage room, there’s shelves on the opposite wall, maybe he could—no.  He can’t pull his hand out from behind himself far enough to tether anything helpful. There’s a big tool chest a few feet away he could probably get, but that would knock it over and get everyone’s attention.

There’s nothing for it, he supposes, and tries to just pull his hands through the cuffs.

He stops at that when he notices he’s chafed himself raw and leans on the pipe, grimacing at everything that hurts. He’s been an idiot, a thrice-damned  _fool_ , and now he’s paying the price.

A few minutes later, there’s voices outside. They go on for a little while, then there’s a sound like someone being shoved into the door and Daud hears, “Just  _do_ it, you piss-ant, I don’t need a reason!”

A scrawny, greasy character with the worst half-assed beard Daud’s ever seen comes stumbling in, adjusting his crumpled top hat and grumbling under his breath, but he stops when he realizes he’s being looked at and his lip curls. Daud tries to hide the hitch in his breathing as he saunters closer, not wanting to give him an easy target.

“Not so tough are you now, eh?” the man says in a thick Morley brogue. “Knife of Dunwall.”

Daud doesn’t dignify that with a response.

“You’re  _stuck_.” He pokes Daud’s chest with a very grimy finger. “And we did that.  _Us_ , the Roaring Boys.”

“Are you sure?” The man’s probably scared of him, Daud thinks. His eyes keep flickering around like he’s half-expecting Daud to break loose and come for his throat, and he wouldn’t be trying so hard to gloat if he wasn’t at least a little afraid. If he can push him just far enough, he’ll go away.

“Shut up,” he snaps, but he doesn’t look so brave now. “We can take anybody that would come for  _you.”_

“I doubt—” before Daud can even finish his sentence, the man rears back and hits him right in the solar plexus, hard. He doubles over as much as he can, breath leaving him all in a rush as most of his vision goes dark with spots, and  _fucking Void,_  that hurts.

“Shut  _up!”_

Daud’s feeling very spiteful, and wants him to piss off and leave him alone, so he turns his hand and tethers the tool chest. Everything in it spills out all over the place and the man just about jumps out of his skin before he flushes an ugly red and grabs a pipe wrench.

Daud feels the bones in his calf break before the pain registers. Then it’s all he can do to stand somewhat upright as the man waves the wrench around and shouts,  _“None_  of that shit! You do it again and the other one goes, you hear?!”

“Hey!” Someone else looks in. “Leave him alone, the boss wants him one piece!”

“Leon  _just_ told me to—”

“Shut it! I don’t want any lip from you!”

He makes a rude gesture at whoever told him off and stalks out of the room, slamming the door behind him and muttering, “Fuckin’ witch…”

Daud eases himself onto the ground, breathing shallowly through gritted teeth. That did not go the way he’d planned.

Nothing is going the way he planned.

He’s not sure how long he sits there in the dark. Eventually he starts getting hungry and it finally sinks in that he’s going to miss dinner. Void, what’s Corvo going to think? Wyman?  _Emily?_  They’ve just started building a fragile trust, and now he’s gone off and left without a word to any of them, with no idea of when he might be back.

Or if.

He can’t even  _walk._

Fuck, unless the Roaring Boys try to give him to the government to collect the price that’s still technically on his head because he  _technically_ isn’t spymaster yet (unlikely) he might die still handcuffed to the pipe.

Oh, Void.

He feels a couple of tugs on the other end of the arcane bond—someone’s looking for him but he’s not going to take the bait, not even enough to check who it is. He’d need four, maybe five of them, all fully armed, to get out of this scrape and he can’t summon that many, especially not with the shape he’s in.

And—oh no.

If he dies, all the Whalers will know instantly (he thinks) because the bond will break. Leonid and Montgomery would take it especially hard, and he doesn’t want to—

He’s just going to have to get out.

Somehow.

As soon as he has the thought, the temperature in the room plummets, feeling like winter seawater, and Daud can see his breath fog in the little light there is until most of it is blotted out by a shadow that slowly grows denser.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans. “Not  _you.”_

 _“Oh, Daud,”_  the Outsider says. Interestingly, he gives off a faint blue-purple light of his own.  _“What trouble you’re in this time.”_

“Don’t remind me.”

He drifts closer, a few inches above the ground as always, and lays a hand on Daud’s calf, right above the break. He comes close to snapping at him for it, but his hand weighs nothing at all and is so cold it dampens the pain.  _“And yet you’re still so determined to escape—”_

“I  _know,”_  Daud interrupts. He’s very short of patience and knows the Outsider won’t do anything worse than give him the silent treatment as punishment. “Are you going to do anything useful or just float there and talk?”

_“Dapper Rodney found his tallboy by the Wrenhaven. It’s operator abandoned it, hoping no one would ever find out what he’d done, and he drowned when he tried to swim across the river. I suppose his wish was granted, in a way.”_

Daud blinks. That’s…surprisingly straightforward, and gets rid of the worries that someone—an officer looking to flee the country, maybe—had sold it to the Roaring Boys.

Of course the Outsider has to go and ruin it.  

 _“Just how_ do  _you propose to escape? Your hands are bound, and unless you can fashion a splint and hobble off, I don’t see how—”_

Daud grinds his teeth. He doesn’t want to hear it. “Can you do something helpful and go away?”  

 _“Hmm,”_  he says, and then he’s gone.

* * *

Corvo, Emily decides, is worried.

It’s always hard to see on him, but he’s looking at every noise just a little too fast, and he fidgets with the silverware, running his thumb along the engraving. She’s certain it has something to do with Daud’s conspicuously empty chair. There’s a full place setting waiting for him, so his absence is probably unplanned, which would fit with Corvo’s nervousness. She knows they’re…close, even if she still can’t bring herself to like it. Or him.

She gives his chair a hard look, hoping he’s not gone strange again. He’d done that—holed up in his room or his office depending on the time, just about refusing to come out of either because of some odd sense of guilt. Corvo had been horribly worried when he found out, and now Emily has to live with the knowledge that they’ve started sharing a room.

Wyman comes in and sits down beside her, but she doesn’t feel like talking and mostly ignores them even though it makes her feel a bit badly, folding her hands in her lap and picking at the cuticles. Callista would scold her for it if she were here, but she’s not and can’t do anything about it, so there. In the corner of her eye, she can see Wyman glance between her, Corvo, and Daud’s empty chair, and they hum softly. They’re clever, they’ll figure it out.

Emily sighs and hears a strange not-sound, everything going muted like the room is full of treacle instead of air. She shivers, glances up, and the table—no,  _everything_ is grey, with a strange distortion making it all look just slightly wrong. She raises her eyes and gasps because there’s a person in Daud’s chair, a young man, dressed very nicely and sitting very upright. There’s darkness spilling off him like smoke, and his eyes are pitch black from edge to edge.

 _“Room for one more?”_  he asks, smiling slightly.

Corvo does  _not_ have the reaction Emily was expecting.

 _“No,”_  he hisses, half-standing and pointing an accusing finger the intruder. “I told you, you’re not to talk to Emily, she’s had enough trouble without someone finding out you’ve spoken to her. She doesn’t need the Abbey breathing down her neck, they’d want Daud and I killed—”

_“Relax, Corvo. I’ve halted time.”_

Emily stares at him.  _What?_

Corvo grits his teeth and sighs. “Why have you come?”

_“Really, I thought you’d be more pleased to see me. I’ve just spoken to Daud—”_

“Where is he?” The intruder levels him with a look like Corvo’s the rudest person he’s ever met, really, he can _not_  believe people these days, and he quiets. “I apologize.”

Now Emily stares at the intruder, because she’s realized she’s sitting across from the  _Outsider_ (she’s almost angry at herself for not figuring it out earlier, but she wasn’t exactly expecting the whale god to appear at her dinner table, of all places). The Outsider gives her a look like he’s read her thoughts, and she hurriedly looks away, unnerved.  

Wyman just stares, transfixed. The Outsider barely looks any older than them.

“Where is he?” Corvo asks again, his voice low and quiet like he’d much prefer to be louder.

_“Draper’s Ward.”_

* * *

“So,” Slackjaw drawls. “You want me to round up a few of mine and go down to Draper’s with you ’n them”—he nods at the Whalers—“so you can pick up someone you’re sweet on while  _we_ beat all of Dapper Rodney’s within an inch of their lives.”

Corvo crosses his arms, wishing Slackjaw wasn’t quite so observant. All he’d called Daud was  _a friend_. “Yes.”

Slackjaw sighs, considering. Then he levers himself off the edge of his desk and says, “Of course we’ll go. Rodney’s been pissing me off lately, anyway, he needs the lesson. Let me find a few of the boys.”

* * *

Daud grits his teeth and tries to breathe deeply and slowly. Montgomery had explained to him once how shallow breaths did more harm than good, and it all made perfect sense at the time and sounded wonderfully logical, but he aches all over and it’s hard.

His calf  _hurts_ , his boot feeling strangling tight around it, and he’s grateful for the dribble of water leaking out of the pipe. It’s cool and distracting. His one consolation is that his ribs might not actually be cracked, just bruised, except when he thinks that, he starts to laugh.

He’s probably going to  _die,_  but at least his ribs are alright.  

Oh, Void.

At least no one else has come to bother him, that’s a small mercy. He closes his eyes and tries to get as comfortable as he can. He doubts he’s going anywhere.

A few minutes later, someone goes running past the door, boots pounding heavily. Then another person, and there’s a sound like a grenade’s gone off somewhere. He hears the tallboy stomp away, and things suddenly get much louder.  

Daud just stares at the sliver of light shining under the door. It sounds like there’s a full-fledged gang fight happening just outside the warehouse.

He sighs.

He certainly doesn’t want to be involved in it, and resignedly tries to pull his hands out of the cuffs again. He has no idea what he’ll do if it actually works this time, but he’d rather not be a sitting duck for whoever else has shown up to find. He supposes he doesn’t even really have to get away, just find someplace out of sight and hunker down long enough for the gangs to sort themselves out. Then he can summon Thomas and Tynan and have them help him while the Roaring Boys are distracted.

Of course, that plan goes about as well as all the others he’s made, and he’s still well and truly stuck.

A soft voice outside the room says, “He’s in here,” and Daud goes very still, thinking  _shit._

The door opens, and the person responsible is very short, they don’t look like any of the heavy-built thugs Dapper Rodney seems to favor, but he can’t make out any other details because the person is backlit. Then they turn their head, revealing a Whaler’s mask and what in the Void is Leonid  _thinking_ —

She steps aside, and  _Corvo_ comes in, followed by a slightly bow-legged figure that can only be Slackjaw. Corvo hurries toward him and drops to his knees, touches his face with gentle fingers and draws back when Daud flinches.

“Are you alright?”

“‘M fine.” Fine enough, at least. He’ll live. “They handcuffed me—”

Corvo glances up at Slackjaw, but he flaps a hand dismissively. “Relax, I brought my picks.”

He crouches down, knees popping loudly, and sets to work, finishing surprisingly quickly. The cuffs fall with a clank, and before he can protest, Corvo and Slackjaw have each taken one of his hands and heave him up like he doesn’t have broken bones.

He can’t stop the strangled, pained noise and gasping breath that follow, but at least they’re quick to catch on and rearrange him so he’s between the two of them with an arm draped their shoulders.

“Seems to me you’re not fine,” Slackjaw says cheerfully.

Daud rolls his eyes.

When she catches sight of him, Leonid bites her lip and furrows her brow, clearly worried, but she keeps her head. “This way,” she says, and starts walking. Daud’s proud of her.

She leads them past the worst of the fighting, though they do have to duck to the side and wait for Tynan and one of Slackjaw’s men to finish dealing with a few of the Roaring Boys. Then they’re out of the warehouse and hurrying down the street—though they’re still not very fast.

There’s a rail car waiting and Thomas helps bundle him into it, then they’re off. Daud leans into Corvo’s side, tucking his face against his neck, and he lets him, even wraps his arm around him to pull him closer. Daud has questions he’d like answered, but he’s exhausted.

Questions can wait.

* * *

“It’s good to see you’re feeling better.”  

Daud pauses in demolishing his plate of peppercorn blood ox and potatoes long enough to glance up at him, then grunts and sets back into it like he’s not going to see food again for a month. Corvo pulls a chair up to the bed and lets him, they can talk when he’s done. Between the cast, the rings of bandages around his wrists, and the black eye, he looks terrible—but, Corvo tells himself, it could be much worse. This isn’t anything he can’t recover from, even if he will be sullen until Montgomery lets him get back to life as usual.

Eventually Daud lays his fork down and pushes the tray away, finished.

“What happened?” Corvo asks.

Daud sighs, frowns. “Thought I’d go see what the Roaring Boys were doing, the report I got said they weren’t good for much of anything, but I dropped my fucking  _pen_ and their tallboy saw me—and they modified it somehow, it doesn’t have the bow anymore—but they caught me and I think Dapper Rodney came from one of the illegal boxing rings, he acts like they do, and he did  _this.”_  He gestures at the black eye and Corvo nods, trying not to smile. He shouldn’t, he  _really_ shouldn’t, but Daud never rambles like this unless he’s had medication and it’s endearing.

“And then they stuck me in that damn room and one of them sent in some idiot to see if I was,” he waves one hand like he’s trying to grab words out of the air, “still alive, and I pissed him off so he broke my leg. And then the  _Outsider_ showed up so I told him to leave, I didn’t want to deal with him, and he  _did_ , and then you got there and now here I am.” He sits there silently for a moment, and then his eyes narrow. “Wait.”  

Corvo lets him think, wondering where his mind’s gone now.  

He points an accusing finger. “You brought Slackjaw, why didn’t you take the Watch? If anyone finds out you were there, you could—” Corvo tries to head him off, but Daud won’t have it. “No, you should’ve taken Curnow instead, if someone saw you were with Slackjaw you could get sent back to Coldridge, why did you—”

“Daud—”

“Why did you come at all?”

Corvo stills. Surely he can’t think—

“Daud, listen.” He catches his hands, giving him one less thing to distract himself with. “Listen to me. You’re worth it.” Daud tries to protest. “You are. And if something like this happens again, I will come for you again, alright?”

Daud looks stunned that he would say such a thing, like he doesn’t really believe it. “Alright.”  

“Do you want me to sleep here or in my room?” Corvo doesn’t want to run the risk of hurting him by shifting around in the night, what with the broken bones, but he’ll stay if Daud wants him to.

He falters. “Here.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.” He gives his hands a squeeze, rises from the chair, and leaves the room. Out in the hallway, he sighs and scrubs his hands over his face.

He and Daud will need to talk in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how to describe corned beef when regular old cows don’t exist


End file.
